The Parade

Image by David St. George


The Parade


How exhilarating it was to march
along the great boulevards
in the sunflash of trumpets
and under all the waving flags—
the flag of ambition,
the flag of love.


So many of us streaming along—
all of humanity, really—
moving in perfect step,
yet each lost in the room
of a private dream.


How stimulating the scenery
of the world,
the rows of roadside trees,
the huge curtain of the sky.


How endless it seemed
until we veered
off the broad turnpike
into a pasture of high grass,
headed toward the dizzying cliffs
of mortality.


Generation after generation,
we keep shouldering forward
until we step off the lip into space.


And I should not have to remind you
that little time is given here
to rest on a wayside bench,
to stop and bend to the wildflowers,
or to study a bird on a branch—


not when the young
are always shoving from behind,
not when the old keep
tugging us forward,
pulling on our arms
with all their feeble strength.


Billy Collins

Posted over on Poetry Foundation